Plague of Mybyncia

by C. G. Coppola

  “We kill trespassers,” his voice is low and husky, his nostrils flaring as he speaks. He glances between us again, his eyes flickering back to the boys and Sampson and Clarence. “You are no Zingfinold.”

  Pratt and I shake our heads, quickly agreeing.

  “You are no Zingfinold and you come to our home. You come in dead of night. Only thieves come dead of night.”

  We shake our heads again, desperately trying to convince him otherwise. I want to assure him that we aren’t thieves, but with our gags still intact, the best I can do is communicate with my expressions. I wish Sampson was able to just explain this, but he’s tied up with the others, watching as the Zingfinold interrogates us. He leans in closer, examining our garments.

  “You come unarmed.”

  Pratt and I both nod enthusiastically.

  “This will no save you. Thieves do no fight, only steal.”

  I shake my head again and Pratt quickly follows my lead.

  “No? You come for reason,” he glances between us and finally setting on her, he pulls the gag from her mouth. But she keeps it shut the instant it’s freed.

  “Female…” he growls low in the back of his throat, “… why you come?”

  “We…” she glances to Sampson, then back at the beastly Zingfinold, “we… came here with the Fychu.”

  “Fychu does no belong here.”

  “We…” and she glances to me, lost for an explanation she was never prepped for, “w-we need help.”

  “No help here.”

  “We…” she gulps, trying for a third time and in a deep breath, it all flies out of her. “There was no other way. We had to come. If—if we didn’t, then half the population of Pryncbia would die. We-we need help from the Zingfinolds. They have this flower that…”

  “You come for flower?” he narrows his eyes.

  Pratt nods enthusiastically. “It’s this—”

  “YOU TRY STEAL FROM ZINGFINOLDS?” he roars so loud the trees shake from the vibration of his voice. Pratt screams at the sound, falling back to the dirt as the Rogues struggle in their restraints.

  I shake my head with fervor, staring straight into our captor’s eyes, willing him to look at me. Finally he does and after a quick examination of my body, he tugs the gag from my mouth.

  “You want steal from Zingfinolds?”

  “No,” I keep my voice strong. “No, we came to negotiate.”

  “Zingfinolds no negotiate.”

  “Then we came to warn.”

  “Warn?”

  I take a breath, unsure if this is information I should be sharing, but at this point, it’s all I’ve got left. “There is a war starting. It originated on Dellapalania, but recently it has spilled into Mybyncia. The same thing could happen here on Nerwolix.”

  “No,” he shakes his head. “We no part of any war.”

  “Not yet. Mybyncia has already been under attack. Twice.”

  He narrows his eyes, searching mine. He glances to Pratt shaking on the ground, then back to me. “Why she say you want flower?”

  “Because we do. Someone stole the Nazual from you and unleashed it against Mybyncia’s royal city. We’ve come to reclaim the antidote in exchange for information about the upcoming war.”

  “Why you come dead of night?”

  I gulp—yeah, that does look suspicious. Again, keeping my voice strong, I look him straight in the eye. “We were going to arrive in the morning but we had to leave now. We’re not here to steal,” I repeat, “but to barter. Information for the antidote.”

  He glances to Sampson, then to the rest of the group and finally back at me. “You brought Fychu?”

  “He’s our friend,” I nod, “and the best person to explain the dangers that lie ahead. Please, we need to discuss this as soon as possible.”

  After a long minute, the Zingfinold nods with a glance to Sampson and the rest of the group again. “We bring you to Hozfin. Fychu can speak with him.”

  The Zingfinold whistles two short notes and the rest of the tribesmen approach. They yank Sampson and the others to their feet as one of the younger tribesmen picks up Mae and tosses her over his furry shoulder. He heads to the front of the line as another Zingfinold begins linking the Rogues together with the same prickly twine. Jace and Werzo resist slightly but Sampson and the others accept the situation, watching the rest of the Zingfinolds move around them, securing the rope.

  Before we set off, something drops from the trees, a swift movement darting from branch to branch and finally landing on the one closest to the ground. The head Zingfinold speaks up into the darkness, to the exact spot where the movement finally paused. He motions to us—the Rogues, Pratt, Mae and I—continuing in his sing-song language and once finishing, looks to me with a hard face.

  Whatever is on the branch drops to the ground again, next to the large tribesman. It walks up, into the glow of my Callix.

  “No, shit—Fallon, is it really you?”

  “Walker?” I gasp.

  Chapter Twenty: King of Zinnollo

  Is it—could it be true?

  I haven’t seen Walker since we trained for the Vermix invasion, when he discovered I was a five percent and wanted to know what happened the day I found the experiments. I think I may have spotted him at some point during the battle but there was too much going on to be sure. And after that, he was simply missing. I want to rush up to make sure I’m seeing clearly, that it’s actually him—the first person who spoke to me on Harrizel, the first one to warn about escaping—but as he approaches, his face and all that red hair comes into view. It is Walker!

  I start to move toward him and am immediately yanked back.

  “Easy, easy…” he frowns at the tribesman behind me, reaching for my wrist restraints. “Let me get these off you.”

  The main Zingfinold steps toward us and speaks to him in his own language, but Walker doesn’t look up—doesn’t even flinch. Still grinning, he nods and frees my hands but quickly pulls them in front of me, reapplying the tie loosely. “In the front, like this, okay? It’ll hurt less.”

  “What’re you doing here?” I whisper. “What happened?”

  Still smiling from cheek to cheek, he’s focused on the restraints. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in back at the city.”

  “City?”

  He nods.

  “Walker,” the Zingfinold calls, approaching us, “this your female?”

  Reid’s head snaps over. Even bound and tied to the others, he stands out among the group, ready to break his way free. But Sampson is behind him, shaking his head with warning.

  “No…” Walker grins, clearing enjoying this. “She’s just my friend…” he glances up, “never really got a fair shot though.”

  Reid looks like he’s about to expire, but the second Walker lifts my bound wrists and places them around his neck, I think Reid might actually do it—somehow break free from the line of Rogues and kill Walker where he stands. Sampson continues shaking his head in warning, but Rox’s eyes remain lit with fury, deadlocked on Walker’s grip, especially as he sneaks his arm around my waist, pressing me to him.

  “We can take the scenic trip,” he raises his free hand and, grasping one of the tear-drop leaves, we rocket off the ground, flying up through the darkened canopy. The rest of the group disappears beneath us, turning into tiny blurred dots below. Tightening his arm around my waist, he smiles, “Feel free to hold on as tight as you want to.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, so I simply grin, glad Reid is not here to see this. Trying to dismiss that thought, I watch the multiple branches whip past as we soar higher and higher, further and further into the sky. How far up are we going? And how will the others get here? There are so many things I want to know, to ask. Like how did Walker end up here? Or how long has he been here? And what’s going to happen with all of us? Sifting through all these thoughts, I stick with the most immediate one.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “Taking you to the city. Warz
e wants you to speak with Hozfin—he’s the leader of the Zingfinolds.”

  “And he speaks English? How do they know English?”

  “Hell if I know. It was a bit of a shock to us too.”

  I nod. “And is Hozfin a nice guy?”

  “Pretty terrifying, actually,” Walker laughs, completely relaxed. “Thought I’d die the first time I met him.”

  “You survived.”

  “And so did the others.”

  “Others?”

  “Yep,” he nods as we slow, stepping us onto a branch.

  We’re at the top of the tree where a whole nest of the rounded leaves live. Walker lets go and it shrivels even higher, back into the bark with its siblings. The branch we’re standing on isn’t fully smooth, but rather occupies the same rope-like texture of the tree it belongs to. Mistakenly, I glance down and nearly lose my balance.

  “Whoa,” Walker grips me tighter. “You’re going to want to keep your eyes up,” he gestures out to the lush canopy ablaze with tiny glowing lights. “Welcome to Zinnollo—city of trees.”

  My breath catches.

  It’s beautiful.

  As far as the eye can see, golden dots illuminate a mass of swollen trunks, all connecting to one another by gargantuan interweaving branches. They occupy the same knotted texture, the trees bulging with bulbous bellies while hats of the rounded, tear-drop leaves sit atop, creating its own connecting canopy. The branch-bridges, crafted into stairwells, reach from the highest tree-top limb and zigzag all the way to the lowest and every which way in between, lights strum across it all, like a tiny town sitting in the cloudless night.

  “Walker…” it’s the only thing I can say.

  “Beautiful, right?”

  “It’s like a dream.”

  “Yeah,” he peers off into distance, “that’s what I thought first time I saw it. Thought… if I’m going to be killed, it’s as good a place as any. Know what I mean?”

  “Well, I’d rather not be killed,” I gaze out into the twinkling night. “So when did you get here?”

  “Right after Harrizel. During the battle.”

  “That’s why we couldn’t find you…” I look to him, startled to find him so close. With my arms still wrapped around his neck and his hand cradling my waist against his body, his head is only inches from mine. Attempting to pull back, I look to the city again. “But how did—”

  “Vix.”

  “Vix is here?” I whip back.

  “Yep,” he grins. “Couple others too.”

  My mind races with possibilities. Who else is here? Able? Could—could Able be here? Trying not to get my hopes up, I run through everyone unaccounted for. There weren’t too many, but there were a few, and Vix and Walker were definitely on that list. Could everyone missing be here? And all this time?

  “Listen,” Walker leans in, his scent coating me. “I have to take you to Hozfin with the others but he won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  “He a generous guy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need something from the planet. That’s why we came.”

  “What is it?”

  “A flower. It has the antidote we need.”

  “What do you need an antidote for?” he narrows his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine—it’s the Mybyncians. They’ve been infected and the only thing to cure them is the Nazual. So, do you think Hozfin would allow us to take a few of them?”

  Walker inhales through his teeth, “Uh… not really sure. He doesn’t like strangers coming to his home and taking his things. Kind of hates it, actually.”

  “Maybe Sampson can convince him.”

  “Maybe…” he sounds unconvinced, reaching up to the same rounded leaf. Yanking it down a bit, he grips me tighter, “Time to find out. Hold on tight, okay?”

  Before I’m able to nod, he jumps off and we’re flying through the trees toward another high branch. Reaching it, Walker let’s go of the rubbery leaf and grabs the next, launching us toward the next stop. We do this a few more times until we reach a wooden bridge leading up to a giant tree trunk, five times the size of any of the others.

  Thunderously intimidating, it glows from several tiny gaps, illuminating the fortress like a magnificent lantern against the black night. A red curtain hangs in the front, from the archway of its winding, rope-like bark, and the entire tree is surrounded by at least five of the carved bridges connecting it to the rest of the city. Wherever he’s taken me, it’s important.

  “What is this place?”

  Walker grins. “This is Hozfin’s home. He’ll receive you and the others. Here,” he lifts my arms from around his neck and places them back in front of me gently. “I’d take your restraints off, but he’d rather strangers come in bound.”

  “Think you can cut me loose by end of the night?”

  “Think so, yeah,” Walker smiles, his mouth turning down suddenly. “Sorry they jumped you like that,” he wipes a bit of dirt free from my cheek. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  I shake my head, trying to ignore the throbbing pain still pulsating down my leg.

  “Normally they spare the females somewhat, but because it’s nighttime…”

  “I’m fine—really. Once I get these off,” I indicate to the twine binding my wrists, “I’ll be fine. Really, don’t worry about me. I’ve been through much worse.”

  He exhales, glancing down at my wrists, lost in indecision. “Well,” he looks up after a minute, “I am glad to see you. Thought I’d never seen you again,” he motions to the side, “or anyone else. Figured I’d be here forever.”

  “And you’ve been here this whole time? Since the Vermix arrived on Harrizel?”

  “This whole time. It’s been a bit lonely,” he smiles another charming grin, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. My heart jolts and on instinct I jerk back. “Sorry…” his face falls, his hand dropping. “Guess you’re still with him, huh?”

  I bite my lip, nodding.

  “Thought he had someone back home?”

  “He did… um….does.”

  “But he wants you?”

  I nod again.

  “Can’t say I blame him,” Walker smiles with a wink.

  An uncomfortable moment of silence passes before the large Zingfinold approaches, the one Walker referred to as Warze. He’s leading the rest of the group—still bound and gagged—in one line across the nearest bridge and up toward the mammoth-sized trunk. Only half of the tribesmen accompany him, including the younger one carrying an unconscious Mae.

  All wide-eyed, Sampson heads the line of captors, followed closely by Clarence and Pratt with the Rogues trailing behind. Reid moves somewhere in the middle, but unlike the others, is solely focused on Walker and I, his eyes glued to our scene. He hasn’t calmed down in the slightest and in fact, he seems even more enraged.

  Once Warze reaches Walker on the little bit of bark in front of the crimson curtain, he pauses, Sampson and the line halting behind him. “I speak with Hozfin. Announce Fychu’s arrival.” He sweeps past the drape and into the wooden abode.

  Sampson looks to Walker, then to me, his brows raised and waiting.

  “Hozfin will remove your gags in a minute. I’d do it myself but as I told Fallon, he’d rather strangers come in bound and silenced.”

  Sampson nods.

  Walker turns to me, gently grasping my wrists with both his hands, “I’ll get these off you as soon as possible. I promise.”

  “Fychu,” Warze holds opens the curtain, peering down the row behind him, “friends of Fychu. You speak with Hozfin now.”

  Sampson leads the way, the rest of the line following behind. As he passes, Reid pelts Walker with a glare so intense that it makes me step back, and as I do, I nearly fumble backwards on the bridge. Reid tries getting to me, but he’s ushered inside by the tribesman who’s hoisting Mae over his shoulder. Before I hit the bark, Walker catches me, his arm wrapped securely around my waist.

  “Whoa there…”
he hoists me back up. “You okay? Hit your leg too?”

  “It was injured before I got here.”

  “Just lean on me, Fallon. I got you,” he presses me to his side, half propping me up as we move past the red curtain.

  Inside is a warm wooden space, the interior draped in red fabrics and littered with jars of giant, yellow fireflies. I’m instantly suffocated and it doesn’t take long to figure out why. The space is teeming with husky Zingfinolds, swallowing a majority of the space with their bulky limbs and wide frames. The smaller, less furry females sit in the center of the floor, clothed in the same beige and black animal hide while the males stand crossed-armed against the walls.

  Off in the back, sitting in a throne carved from the tree itself, is the largest Zingfinold in the room. Silver-brown fur runs from his face down his neck and over his shoulders, bunching up again at his wrists, knees and ankles. He sits back with both hands grasping the wooden arms of his throne, his legs parted slightly with a red and black material draped across his thighs. A crown of twigs and twine with red and blue berries rests atop the silver-brown fur of his head, his blue eyes narrowed on us.

  He lifts his right arm and places it down again. “Which is Fychu?”

  Warze removes the gag from Sampson’s mouth, tugging him forward and the rest of the line goes with him.

  Hozfin shakes his head and using a small blade, Warze cuts the rope between him and Clarence. He tugs Sampson by the arm and pushes him to his knees before the throne.

  “We no allow strangers,” Hozfin growls, narrowing his eyes. “Fychu or no.”

  “And that is exactly the reason we held off on coming to Nerwolix for so long.”

  “You are here.”

  “We had no choice. We did everything possible to keep from trespassing on your lands. Even,” Sampson chuckles, “engaging in battle with a few Gorgen.”

  The king’s eyes flare for only a second, but regain their narrowness quickly. “Gorgen no exist.”

  “Do not tell me you think them a mere child’s fable?”

  Hozfin shifts in his seat, his sights never flickering, “How could such creature be?”

  “Oh believe me…” Sampson nods. “They are real. Very real.”